The Game of Thumbs

I’m so tired of the game

where somehow i’m supposed to care

about your cries for attention

and the banalities I call my day

Where I throw up some pictures

and assert that I’m better than

all the thoughts inside my head

that tell me I better not

I wait for the call to adventure

but it’s an extended warranty expiring

they keep trying to reach me

and I keep pressing decline

I seek what is my meaning

and find myself meaning less

A digitized compliation

of what I think is my best

As if I’ve made an ego

of the ego that made me

and now I care so much more

about what you think of me

As if I’m a mind reader

and I can somehow tell

that you can see behind my eyes

that my eyelashes are the gates of hell

I used to care so much

about a lot of little things

and now I just stare in the mirror

wondering who is looking at me

My name was given to me

from someone else’s mind

My interests, hopes and aspirations

Data based algorithms defined

And even all my anarchy or chaos or defiance

seems so perfectly planned out

in someone else’s appliance

I thought I was anomaly

it turns out I am wrong

I’m just another puppet

singing someone else’s song

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